


Lestrade the Third...Wheel

by LiveAndLetLive



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Annoyed John Watson, Drinking, Drunk Greg Lestrade, Drunk Sherlock Holmes, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-11 07:41:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17442737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiveAndLetLive/pseuds/LiveAndLetLive
Summary: In strode Greg Lestrade, looking a bit too jolly.Sherlock tilted his head back to look up at John, muttering his deductions to him. "Three pints of beer and a shot of Tequila. He and Mycroft have had a little disagreement." With that, he sat up out of John's lap and awaited whatever excuse Greg had for disrupting his much needed cuddle-time with John.





	1. Chapter 1

Sherlock was resting his head in John's lap, staring at the ceiling. The discussion they were having was about nothing in particular but both men were happy to be spending time together. Two weeks into their new relationship and they were still just testing the waters, giving Sherlock time to think about what he wanted from John. John completely understood: Sherlock had been alone for most of his life and a relationship was a huge change for him. For now, they were both just content with John running his fingers through Sherlock's hair. Just as they were reminiscing about their favorite cases together, Mrs Hudson popped her head through the door with a sorry expression on her face.

"Sorry to disturb you, boys, but you have a visitor." Mrs Hudson announced, rather unsure of herself.

"We're not taking any clients today." John smiled, continuing to toy with a particularly springy curl.

"You'll want to take this one." She replied grimly before disappearing again without further explanation.

In strode Greg Lestrade, looking a bit too jolly.

Sherlock tilted his head back to look up at John, muttering his deductions to him. "Three pints of beer and a shot of Tequila. He and Mycroft have had a little disagreement." With that, he sat up out of John's lap and awaited whatever excuse Greg had for disrupting his much needed cuddle-time with John.

"Hi. Jus' droppin' myself in. You good?" Greg slurred, obviously trying to seem sober. John sighed before standing up. "Here, Greg. Sit down." Greg's facade was broken by a frown. "I'm sick o' people tellin' me what to do." 

John sat back down with his hands raised. "Alright, alright" he said, slightly annoyed at Lestrade's intrusion. That was the most intimate position he had been in with Sherlock since their relationship had started, now he had to cut it short to sober up a drunk man. But he could see Greg was upset: he owed Greg for being there for him when he needed it.

After an awkward silence, Greg had made up his mind. " _Now_ , I'm gonna sit. But 'cause _I_ want to." he grumbled before seating himself on the coffee table, knocking over a mug. He obviously thought it was a chair. "I'll get him some water." Sherlock said out of the blue, dashing away. John eyed the back of his head suspiciously.

"Want to tell me what happened, Greg?" John urged, talking to him more like a patient than anything. Greg scoffed before spitting out the word "Mycroft". When Greg realized John wanted him to continue his story, he took a deep breath. 

"Stress is workful, you know? As the British Government, he should understand that. He says I _drink too much_. Bollocks. I've only been 'avin' a pint at least once a week. So I said-I said "I'll show you drinking _too much_ "... and then I can't remember the rest."

"Real smart, mate." John muttered, looking around for Sherlock and that damn water. "Cheers." replied Greg, unaware John's comment was sarcastic. Just at that moment, Sherlock hesitantly stepped into view with the water, avoiding John's gaze. John knew Sherlock was hiding away from having to deal with Greg and Mycroft's relationship issues. He couldn't really blame him: his brother was sleeping with his "boss".

Just as Greg was gulping down his water, some dripping off his chin, John got a text. Sherlock frowned at John's sigh. "Oh no. It's the clinic. I've got to go in and sort something out. I won't be long." John promised, attempting to reassure a panicked Sherlock before getting up and putting his coat on. "You'll be fine, love." John smiled before quickly pecking his lips and running off downstairs.

After staring at the door John had just exited through, he slowly turned to face Greg... or rather, what he had to deal with on his own. He was startled to find that Greg had moved from his seat/coffee table to Sherlock's violin, plucking at it harshly.

Speeding towards him to rip it from his hands, Sherlock had never moved faster in his life.

 

\- - -

 

Back from the clinic, John walked up the stairs. There was an emergency and they were short on staff- John went willingly. Towards the top of the stairs, he heard a chorus of off-key singing.

"Th'winner takes itaaaaaall!" At this, John stopped to listen closer. He could have sworn he heard two voices. "Beside the victory! Tha's 'er destiny!". 

Sherlock.

Running two steps at a time, he burst in to see Greg holding -what used to be- John's -now very much empty- bottle of Smirnoff in the air with Sherlock behind him, both screaming the lyrics. John was only gone for forty-five minutes and already his problems had doubled. Literally. When Sherlock turned to look at the source of the angry heavy breathing, his face lit up and he ran to John, squeezing John's middle with all his might. "I missed you so much, John! Where were you?"

John didn't answer. Instead, not wanting to pull Sherlock off and so waiting for him to finish his hug, he marched right up to Greg and snatched the bottle out of his hand. John knew that Greg wasn't really thinking clearly, but he was so angry he couldn't care less. "Are you half-baked? You know Sherlock is sensitive to addictive substances like this!" John shouted. He remembered Sherlock telling him about his brain getting easily addicted to things. That was shown through his smoking and... other things. "If this gets out of hand, I'll be blaming _you_." Greg looked shocked and probably couldn't fully comprehend what John was even saying. He was utterly sloshed.

Just then, Sherlock came prancing over, swaying slightly before regaining his balance, and put his hand on John's shoulder. "John, look at me 'm fine." he said, spinning slowly to give John the full view of him. Folding his arms, he gave Sherlock a stern look. "What's the first element of the periodic table?" he asked, skeptical.

Sherlock's brain wasn't like most other's: it was sensitive to little things. Perhaps that's why John was so angry. Half a bottle of Smirnoff later, he could barely process the question.

Sherlock's eyes flicked up to the ceiling as if the answer was written there, his face grimaced as if the light was blinding. "Abdomen." He replied, overly-confident in his answer. John's face grew dark and a split second after Sherlock had spoken, John muttered the word "Bed." through gritted teeth. He grabbed Sherlock's hand and began pulling him upstairs, burning with anger. "But thisss your room, sweetheart." Sherlock giggled. Sweetheart. That was new.

"Lestrade's off his face, it would've been very difficult dragging _him_ up the stairs." John explained whilst Sherlock flopped face-first onto the bed. "Mmm smells like you." Sherlock grinned, his words muffled into the pillow. John was glad that Sherlock couldn't see his blush, that was the first time he had ever heard Sherlock say something like that. He cleared his throat. "I'm just gonna go help Lestrade to bed."

Sherlock shot up. "Are you going to cheat on me?!" He cried, not looking directly at John as his eyes followed the spinning walls of the room. "No, love. Just go to sleep." he soothed, gently pushing him back down and kissing him on the forehead. Sherlock began to snore almost instantaneously.

Walking back out of the bedroom and down the stairs to the living room, he saw Lestrade also passed out on the couch. John ran his hands over his face. He took a great amount of pity on Greg: John knew what it was like to date a Holmes. Before Greg had even told him what had happened, he was sure it was due to Mycroft being Mycroft. Despite this, he knew that him and Greg were perfect for each other... "Sometimes" John thought as he tried to wake Greg up from his alcohol-fueled hibernation. After a few firm pats on the cheek, Greg groaned and opened one eye. 

"Mycroft?" he muttered hopefully. "No. John. Let me help you up." he replied, holding out his hand. Greg reluctantly took it and hauled himself forward, John nearly falling on top of him. After stumbling around for a moment, he began his shuffle to John's room. "You've had quite a lot to drink, mate. You'll be thanking God I'm a doctor when you wake up tomorrow." Greg just carried on with his slow decent until they reached the door to John's room. He turned to John and put a hand on his shoulder muttering what John guessed was "Thank you."

John patted his hand and replied to him with a tight smile (he was still a bit pissed off) before turning and walking back up the stairs. In his room once again, he saw Sherlock spread out like a starfish, limbs stretched out to their full potential on top of the covers. John smiled fondly before taking off his shirt and rolling Sherlock slightly to the side, allowing just enough space for him to fit on the bed. Shuffling carefully under the covers, he turned his head towards Sherlock. He _could_ try and get him under the covers, but that was too much detective for him to move at this time of night. Instead, he closed his eyes and enjoyed the quiet.

Tomorrow was going to be fun.


	2. Chapter 2

It was about six o'clock when John woke up. At first, he thought it was because of one of his nightmares, an occurrence that had reduced over time living with Sherlock. His chest felt heavy and ached at the pressure, so it was the only logical assumption. That was, until, he felt the tickle of hair on his neck, some arms and legs wrapped around him like a limpet to a rock. Moving his head downwards, he saw Sherlock with his forehead creased into a scowl as he tried to burrow even further into John's neck.

"Sorry to move you, Sherlock, but I can't breath." John struggled out, hand patting Sherlock's back. Sherlock groaned as he rolled off of him, crushing several of John's ribs as he went. Stifling his grunt of pain, he looked over at Sherlock, who was currently trying to curl himself into a ball. Based on his inebriated state last night, the conclusion was a simple one: he had a serious hangover.

John sighed; this was going to be a rough day for both of them. He stared at Sherlock's expanding frown. "Symptoms?" John asked, waiting for the interminable list.

"Headache... immoderate thirst... sensitivity to light and noise, so keep your voice down, will you?" Sherlock grumbled, already regretting his previous choices. He just wanted to cuddle John, an appropriate response to the turmoil in his head, he didn't want to be doctored.

The truth was, Greg seemed so carefree when he was drunk- more comfortable. This was exactly what Sherlock wanted to be for John. He didn't want John to get bored of him, for John to wait for weeks until he knew what Sherlock wanted from him. He wanted to be carefree. So when Greg had shoved the bottle into his face with a stupid smile, he accepted it with little thought. Whilst Sherlock was stuck in his little ring of regret, John had gotten out of bed and closed the curtains, shutting out the light that hurt his sensitive head.

When he crawled back into bed, he pulled Sherlock by his shoulder into John's chest. Massaging his scalp through a jungle of hair, he could already feel Sherlock relax into him; his back less curved and his neck less stiffened from lack of comfortable sleeping position. He knew he didn't need to lecture Sherlock; Sherlock's body was already doing that for him through pounding headaches and spinning rooms. 

He couldn't recall how long it had been, but their moment together was dismantled by the sound of Greg retching in the bathroom. Being a doctor, John wasn't too put off by it. What put him off was leaving Sherlock when he had just got him to unwind. He slowly sat up, Sherlock sitting up with him as if glued to his chest. After coaxing him off he gently lay him back down again, concerned when the detective started to shiver. Without hesitation, he started to wind the covers around Sherlock. He looked like an angry, little hurricane- Sherlock's agitated expression being the eye of the storm. "I'll be back soon, don't worry." John encouraged before running out of the bedroom and down to the bathroom. He got there just in time to see Greg hobbling out through the door with a gloomy face.

"Go on. Tell me what happened." Greg uttered, already preparing himself for the worst. Whenever he was too drunk to recall what he had done the night before, he knew it was something indecent. Last time this had happened, Anderson had informed him that he had received some very... suggestive... voicemails intended for Mycroft. Greg was "too ill" to show his face for at least another week after that. 

John pointed behind him to the couch before leading them there and sitting down. Once Greg had settled, John began.

"You came in hammered, interrupted my night in with Sherlock then got him drunk." John stated simply, withdrawing the anger from his words. Greg's face sagged. "Guess an apology won't really make up for that." he muttered to himself. "Look, as soon as I can walk out of here without feeling like I'm gonna pass out, I will." Greg said sincerely, feeling like a right jackass. John sighed, for what seemed like the fifth time this morning, before reassuring Greg. "You were upset. I understand. Stay as long as you need. I'm just gonna go and see how Sherlock is doing." Noting the guilty look on Greg's face, he walked up the stairs to the bedroom.

Sherlock was just where he had left him, in an angry swirl of bed sheets. "You took too long. Hugs are required." Sherlock pouted, his head twisting towards where John stood. "You can't stay in bed all day. Come downstairs with me- Greg's waiting." John smiled, his hand outstretched. With a huff, Sherlock unwrapped himself from the covers and grabbed John's hand, just one of the things he appreciated when in a relationship with him. Before they had admitted their feelings for each other, Sherlock could only stand a certain distance away from him - that was to be expected in a "just friends" relationship. Now that barrier was broken, Sherlock couldn't get close enough. He hoped he would always feel like this from the simple act of holding John's hand. 

Once downstairs, he saw Greg sagged back against the couch. Sherlock would usually make a snide remark on his appearance. There were a number of options open to him: the unkempt beginnings of a beard; the dark circles under his eyes; the lack of honorable posture. But Sherlock knew how Greg felt, he just about made it down here without crawling on his hands and knees. For the first time in his life, Sherlock kept his mouth closed and sat down next to him. The silence, however awkward, was better than hurting Greg's feelings, still tender from yesterday. John sensed the tension, so with little else to do, he got up and switched the kettle on for a cup of tea. Living in London, it was engraved into the center of his brain that "tea fixed every problem".

Just then, the door creaked open to reveal a very grim Mycroft Holmes.

 _Almost_ every problem.

As soon as John lay eyes on him, he stormed over and grabbed hold of the door, not allowing it to open any further. "You better behave in there." John whispered, warning him with raised eyebrows. "They are both very hungover and one of them's quite upset with you. Let's not make it two for two, yeah?" Just as John moved out of the way to let him through, Mycroft couldn't help but scoff at John's effort to make him compliant. 

John's suddenly stern expression sorted that out quickly.

Entering more hesitantly this time, Mycroft looked around with a sweeping glance, no-doubt accurately predicting what had happened the night before in every ounce of detail. When his eyes landed upon Greg, his stiff expression softened minutely and a foreign feeling of guilt bloomed within him. Yes, it was sentiment, but he would happily be on the loosing side for Greg.

"Gregory. I... apologize for what I said." He began, using all self-control within him to keep eye contact with Greg. "To help you cope with the stress of work, I have instructed my men to drive you to and fro whenever you need in order to decrease time during a case. I have also decided to be absent from work on Fridays, giving you a day to uncoil with me instead of.... on your own." He said with his head held high, although the guilt was aching in his chest. "In addition, I bo-" but Mycroft was cut off by Greg's strong arms around his neck, hugging him as Mycroft stood stiffly. 

Mycroft was so lost in his speech, desperation to gain forgiveness from Greg meant his brain had missed the smile on Greg's face as he spoke. He also didn't anticipate him rising from his seat and wobbling over to him, still a bit light-headed. Greg knew that Mycroft was trying, and that's all he needed. 

Only when they were alone would Mycroft return any affection, but Greg was sure he would soon get that out of him. "I love you." Greg mumbled into his shoulder. Mycroft's lip curled up a fraction before being quickly shunted back down by his austerity. "Yes." was all he replied, but to Greg's ear it was tinged with warmth.

"I'll try and cut down on the alcohol." Greg promised, pulling back from the hug with a smile.

Greg then turned to see Sherlock glaring. "Now that that's taken care of," Sherlock began, "me and John would like to get back to our previous domesticity, so if you wouldn't mind-"

"-Sherlock." John warned. 

"No, it's fine. I think I've overstayed my welcome. I owe you one, John." He said, patting John's shoulder. "Oh and Sherlock, I've got a new case for you. I'll send it in tomorrow. I haven't got the slightest clue about any of it." Greg frowned. After deciding he was too hungover to deal with Sherlock's reply of "Not surprising", he staggered down the stairs to one of Mycroft's awaiting cars. Mycroft, however, stayed exactly where he was, looking punch-ably smug.

"How are you feeling today, Sherlock?" He smiled, knowing the answer to a scary degree of accuracy. "I'd be feeling a lot better if you followed your boyfriend out of my house." he mumbled back, somewhere between not being bothered enough to move but just enough to get the one-up on his brother. Mycroft's smile fell before glancing at John- the Mycroft alternative to an actual "Thank you."- and waltzing out after Greg, umbrella clicking as he went.

"Jesus." John breathed out, sinking down next to Sherlock on the couch. Glad to have John back by his side, he rested his pounding head against John's shoulder. 

"Why did you get drunk in the first place?" John questioned, suddenly curious. Surely Sherlock could have turned down the alcohol, however persistent Greg had been.

"Experiment." Sherlock lied. 

John could sense Sherlock's dishonesty from a mile away, but decided to leave it be for the time being. Sherlock was grateful for it too; he just wanted some quiet time with his blogger.

That quiet time, however, was cut short by John. "Since when did you know the lyrics to an ABBA song, Mr ' _I deleted the solar system 'cause it wasn't important enough_ '?" He teased.

"John, do shut up." Sherlock cautioned.

"I wouldn't have had you down as a cuddly drunk, either."

"JOHN!"


End file.
